


10 things ladybug loves

by maketea



Series: multichapters [2]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Identity Reveal, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2020-06-29 07:12:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19825135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maketea/pseuds/maketea
Summary: chat noir just wants to make his lady happy. he brings her what she loves.





	1. macarons

**Author's Note:**

> this has been lying in my docs forever so ! let's see if posting will make me write more

_**1 - macarons** _

* * *

Ladybug never mentioned liking macarons. Chat Noir found out by himself.

Pre-patrol. She arrived early. Ladybug stood atop a bakery, at the lip of the rooftop, in a stance that made Chat Noir consider skipping patrol to watch her for the night, instead. Feet firm apart, and her lashes flickering down as cars struck their headlights at her face. Usually her arms would be crossed, or if Chat Noir was having a lucky day, they'd be set at her hips (shoulders back, collarbones flexing below her suit), but that day, they were neither. Ladybug held a pink box, opened, and picked something out of the wrapping.

A pink macaron.

She ate politely -- covered her mouth, wiped her chin. That may have been the first time Chat Noir saw her eat.

It was adorable.

Chat Noir sprung off the corner shop and landed beside her. "I didn't know you like macarons."

She shot him a smile dusted with crumbs. "They're my favourite."

Ladybug's smile hung over Chat Noir's brain for the rest of patrol. He wanted to reach it, pull it to reality, watch her unbox a striped bakers' box and laugh around a mouthful of macaron.

The next day, he stopped at Dupain-Chengs’ Bakery, and ordered a dozen varicoloured macarons. Sabine Cheng handed them over.

"You like macarons, Chat Noir?" she asked.

He did. But they weren't for him.

"A special someone?" she teased.

Chat Noir grinned. "You could say that."

He carried the striped bakers' box to the heart of Paris, leapt up, and of course, Ladybug was already there. She sat at the ridge, unextended leg folded to her chest, and watched the rising moonlight glimmer against her yo-yo.

"Took you long enough," she said, not looking up.

"I had an errand to run."

She raised her head, and stopped playing with her yo-yo. Her eyes fixed themselves on the striped bakers' box. Chat Noir smirked.

"What are those?" Ladybug asked. She smiled sweetly, pressed her cheek to her knee, and rocked on the ridge towards him.

"Your favourite." He ascended the roof and took a seat on the ridge beside her. "From the best bakery in Paris."

Her eyebrows shot up. Chat Noir just about expected a dispute. Perhaps she had another bakery she preferred, perhaps one flaunted in the city, too proud for the Dupain-Chengs' hand-painted gold along the windows. But she only smiled, and accepted the box, as if she already knew that the hands that made gold on the windows and the door made gold in furnaces and mixing bowls and dough.

Ladybug unboxed the macarons. She licked her lips over and over, smiling, brightening, then grinning as soon as the macarons were right below her hands. She picked one up and held it to a streetlight. Red, just like her costume.

She bit down, and dove back into the box before even finishing her mouthful. Another macaron. Chat Noir wondered if this was the first thing she ate all day.

"Why this all of a sudden?" she asked around the macarons.

Because he wanted to see her smile. See her laugh. See her bustle and bumble and giggle over a striped bakers' box he bought for her and know it was because of him her cheeks flushed with glee.

"Anything for you, Bugaboo," he said instead, for it was the closest thing he could say that embodied even a fraction of what teetered on his tongue.

She pulled a face, but seemed to remember the macaron in her mouth and recovered.

"I'll let it slide just this once." Then she raised the box to the streetlight again. Ladybug plucked out a green macaron and thrust it under Chat Noir's mouth. "Want one?"

"They're for you--"

"Come on. Open up."

And although the starlit sky dimmed Ladybug's face, Chat Noir was relieved it dimmed his, too, for the heat barreling to his cheeks could've lit every streetlight in Paris.

She nudged the macaron against his lips. He bit down, she giggled, he nuzzled his nose into her palm when there was none left.

"Silly Kitty." She drew up a finger, set it on his nose, and pushed him back. "Thank you."


	2. scented candles

_**2 - scented candles** _

* * *

After the macarons, Chat Noir knew another picnic would have to happen. This time, a real one.

"I don't think this was such a great idea," Ladybug said as a group of teenagers swivelled around to gawk at them. She waved politely, a hand still on the trolley. "Couldn't we have done this as civilians?"

"That depends, my lady. Wanna share our identities so we can go on shopping trips together?" Chat Noir kneeled by a shelf and showed Ladybug a box. "Donuts?"

"Yeah." She moved their Coke bottle onto its side to fit the box into the trolley. "And you know that's not what I meant. You could have just made me a list so I could buy these as Mari—I mean, as a civilian."

"Can't handle the fame, Bugaboo?" Chat Noir winked.

The store telecom chimed. _"Attention shoppers: we would like to reassure you all that there have been no akuma sightings nearby, and Ladybug and Chat Noir are here off-duty. Please remain calm and enjoy the rest of your day."_

Ladybug raised her eyebrows. "Yes, Chat Noir. The 'fame'."

"It isn't my fault everyone thought there was an akuma when they saw us. It's Hawk Moth's." Chat Noir straightened, and when Ladybug turned out of the aisle, he matched pace with her. "Maybe nobody's used to seeing us out and about. May I propose a solution?"

She pulled a face. "Go on."

"Well, if we date—" 

"Never mind. I take back what I said."

"I'm just saying, we could go out on romantic—" 

"No, Kitty." 

"People won't get scared when they see us anymore! We'd be Paris' symbols of lo—"

"Hey, are those ice cream sandwiches?" Ladybug pointed into a freezer chamber.

Chat Noir flung open the chamber. "We're getting twelve."

"They'll melt!"

"Not if we eat them quick."

Ladybug side-eyed Ms Bustier, who bit back a smile while dropping a bag of frozen peas into her trolley. 

"Chat Noir, don't you think this makes us look a little unprofessional?"

The chamber closed behind him. He approached Ladybug with an armful of ice cream sandwiches. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Do you think these are enough?"

Ladybug sighed.

"Ladybug," —he dumped the sandwiches into the trolley— "you know we don't always have to be professional."

She turned her head. 

"We're teenagers. We're allowed to eat twelve ice cream sandwiches if we want to," he continued.

"But we're superheroes, too." She let go of the trolley. "Everyone's relying on us to save the city, and the last thing we want is for them to think we aren't prioritising their safety because we're too busy eating twelve ice cream sandwiches."

"My lady, nobody expects us to be perfect. Just relax."

Ladybug bit her lip. She almost told him about an article she read, an article she absolutely shouldn't have clicked on, an article Tikki warned her not to open. Something about how Paris would be better off without two teenagers playing dress-up. That the 'superheroes of Paris' (written in quotation marks) clearly weren't doing their job properly if they still hadn't defeated Hawk Moth.

And maybe the article was right.

"I'm gonna go look around. Don't you dare pay for everything without me," she said, and left the snacks' aisle.

Straying from Chat Noir warranted her more attention. More surprised looks. More quick glances away from blue plastic baskets and shelves of frozen food. Ladybug striding down shopping aisles without her inseparable other half could’ve caused more of a stir than just buying twelve ice cream sandwiches.

Ladybug crept into an aisle full of candles, and mantelpieces, and knick-knacks that came in burgundies and ‘home is where the heart is’ quotes. It was empty, lucky for her, so she walked up to the candles and rested by the sale stickers.

Chat Noir had a point — they were just teenagers, but normal teenagers didn’t have magic kwamis that granted them secret identities with superpowers. Normal teenagers didn’t have statues of them set up in the Place des Vosges. Normal teenagers didn’t have articles written about their incompetence as protectors of Paris.

Ladybug and Chat Noir were teenagers, normal teenagers if you peeked behind their masks, and teenagers needed their best friend. Teenagers went out to movies, had sleepovers, ate together at fast food restaurants. But they couldn’t do that. They played chase across rooftops, watched the sun lower as they patrolled, and laughed at jokes to fill the gaps where they couldn’t risk talking about their days.

But it was unprofessional. So, so unprofessional. Parisians needed heroes that were focussed on saving Paris, not on being teenagers.

Chat Noir was taking his time, and Ladybug didn’t want to know with what. She was already wary on eating twelve ice cream sandwiches before they melted. She peered around a half-price sticker at a row of scented candles. There were only a few, and most were white, but each box read a different scent for each. She picked up one full of tealight candles, four in a box and vanilla, according to the small print.

Ladybug glanced around the aisle. Still as empty as before. She brought the box up to her nose and inhaled.

Vanilla indeed, though it wasn’t her favourite. She held onto it, though. Perhaps they’d make a nice addition to their picnic.

She picked up another, kept in a glass candle holder with a label stuck to the front. _Lavender_. Ladybug took a whiff of it. She used to light lavender candles before going to bed, until she almost knocked a stack of books into the flame and realised the candles would have to wait until she found a better place to keep them. She supposed Tikki could help her find somewhere, now, or she could light the candles while she sketched, instead. Ladybug balanced the vanilla tealight candles in the same hand as the lavender.

Then she was sampling the whole row. The rose-coloured, rose-scented votives with pink holders, the honeysuckle wax in a jar, the spiced pumpkin yankee candle she almost didn’t have enough hands to hold onto along with the others she picked up. Ladybug couldn’t wait to redecorate her room, she decided with her nose in a red votive. Raspberry.

“Can I help you?”

Her head shot up. A woman in a white polo shirt was looking at her, eyebrow cocked, her blue name tag hidden when she crossed her arms. 

Ladybug stood in front of a shelf-stacker with almost eight scented candles in her arms. 

She blushed right up to her ears. _“Uh,_ no please— _I mean,_ yes thank you— _no,_ no thank you. I’m just gonna… put these back— _ah!”_

The spiced pumpkin yankee candle toppled out of her hand. She stuck out a foot and caught it just before it cost her five euros — and her dignity.

The shelf-stacker’s eyebrow didn’t lower, and Ladybug saw no reason for it to. A superheroine too busy smelling candles to do her job properly deserved no sympathy for dropping one.

“Let me know if I can help,” the shelf-stacker said, and exited the aisle.

Ladybug looked up at the CCTV screen looming above. She saw herself blown up on the huge screen, the seven candles clutched to her stomach, and the one wobbling on her outstretched foot. The aisle beside her rippled with laughter, and through the gaps between the shelves she saw mothers with their children turning to look at the screen and remark at _Ladybug_ at a _supermarket_ holding up _eight candles_.

If her face warmed any more, she might have cried.

The CCTV screen flickered to another camera. Chat Noir rolled their trolley up to her, a few more things squeezed in.

“What were you saying about looking unprofessional?” he asked.

“Can it, kitty.”

When Ladybug stalked ahead, she missed Chat Noir putting every candle she left behind in the trolley.

They split the money between them at the self checkout, where Ladybug pretended she wasn't hiding from a CCTV camera behind Chat Noir, and Chat Noir pretended he didn't notice. He bagged the candles separately, and snatched them up before she hauled them into her arms.

"You go on ahead. I have to do something," he said as they stepped outside. The streetlights were already starting to switch on. Chat Noir reckoned it would be dark enough by the time they set up for the candles.

"Again?" Ladybug rolled her eyes. "And I'm supposed to carry all this by myself?"

"I hope it won't _fur_ -azzle you too much, my lady." He deserved her glare. "But I won't be long. Don't miss me too much."

Just before he sprinted across the street, Ladybug latched onto his wrist. 

He turned around.

She shoved an ice cream sandwich into his mouth.

"Mmhf—!" He swatted her hand away and chewed.

"And take these, too." Ladybug dropped six of them into his bag. She already had one unwrapped and half in her mouth. "We don't want them to melt, right kitty?"

Between leaping across every rooftop up to the Dupain-Chengs’, Chat Noir ate three ice cream sandwiches. The rest had melted — he threw them into the litter bin outside the entrance.

“Chat Noir!” Sabine called, crouched behind the counter. “It’s nice to see you back so soon!”

“It’s nice to be back.” He let the door shut behind him, careful not to knock over the mop balanced beside it. The display trays had more crumbs than pastries, now, and Sabine was picking out the leftovers and setting them on a plate. “I hope I didn’t come at a bad time,” Chat Noir said.

“Don’t be silly. You’re always welcome here.” She stood up, flour smeared on her cheek, and a plate with a few unsold macarons. “I’m afraid we’re out of stock, though. But you can come back tomorrow morning if you want.”

“Actually… could I just buy those?” He pointed at the plate.

Sabine’s eyebrows shot up. “W-Well, I usually save these for—”

“They’re for Ladybug,” he added, though he didn’t think it would make much of a difference.

But Sabine’s eyes softened, and she smiled at him. She set the plate on the counter, picked out a package from beneath the counter, and ribboned the macarons into the box with a delicate bow on top. 

She set a hand on Chat Noir’s shoulder when he rummaged in his pocket. “It’s on the house.”

He found a five euro note. “I can’t let you do that.”

Sabine tightened her grasp. “Trust me. Just take them.” 

Chat Noir met her gaze. Sabine hadn’t stopped smiling, and her eyes grew even softer. She pushed the box across the counter until it bumped into his knuckles, and kept her grip firm on his shoulder.

He released the five euros, and picked up the box. “Thank you, Mrs Cheng,”

She let go of him, and moved to close the display case, instead. “Thank _you_ , Chat Noir.” 

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

“Next time,” Ladybug said, hands still obediently over her eyes, “you can carry the bags up here. Do you know how difficult it is to carry _grocery shopping_ while jumping across rooftops?”

Chat Noir blew out the match and tossed it with the rest in the empty shopping back. “Sorry about that.”

“What were you doing, anyway?”

He stepped back to marvel at the rooftop. The perimeter was seamed with scented candles — vanilla and lavender. Raspberry and pumpkin spice. The tealight candles weren’t the prettiest beside the votives, nor were the votives the prettiest beside the yankee candles, but the flames were stars against the sky, and Chat Noir didn’t feel sorry for delaying until the night turned black.

Though Ladybug had a few choice words.

“The ice cream sandwiches melted, you know. I got them all over my hands.”

He left the candles to turn to Ladybug. 

If he wasn’t on the ground already, he was sure — he swore on the night sky, the starlight candles, his own Miraculous — that he would’ve collapsed.

She stood blind at the centre of the rooftop, arms bent at the elbows while she covered her eyes and kept her head bowed. The candles sprung off her Cupid’s bow, her pouty moue, the movement of her mouth while she complained about the grocery bags and how heavy they were and how he should’ve bought less if he wasn’t going to carry any of it. Even so, even though she had so much to say and so much to bicker about, she kept her eyes closed, just like he told — no, _asked_ — her to. 

Chat Noir gulped quietly. He reached out, and wrapped his fingers around her forearms. Her perfume was sweeter than any of the candles he lit. Her touch burned harder than any of the matchsticks.

“I told you the ice cream sandwiches were a bad idea. Did you even finish— _ooh_.” 

With her hands cupped in Chat Noir’s, Ladybug raised her head to look around.

The moonlight in her hair, on her skin, on her costume. Her parted lips, her wide eyes, her shoulders lowering while she stepped into the halo on the rooftop. The way she turned — slowly, one foot at a time, one candle at a time. And the way she looked at him, gaze stopping his breaths and his heart, and knocking the words off the tip of his tongue before he could get any out.

A coherent sentence? Chat Noir? Impossible. Especially when Ladybug did one last twirl, a ballerina in the moonlight, and laughed.

“Did you buy these to make fun of me?” she said, pointing a finger. “Come on. Get it over with. I’m giving you permission to tease me before we open those macarons.” Ladybug jutted her chin to the Dupain-Cheng box on the ground.

She said it like she knew she’d won already, like she knew Chat Noir’s tongue sat lame and useless in his mouth and it was all her fault. Her, and the shine on her lips. Her, and her dark lashes. Her, and her smile that lit her up like sunshine. His sunshine.

How could he possibly make fun of her, now? 

“Earth to Chat Noir.” Ladybug waved her hand in front of his face. “Is anyone home?”

He blinked himself out of reverie. “Sorry, my lady. You just _lit up_ my world.”

She smiled wide. 

Then it faded.

Chat Noir almost jumped to his feet. Did she really think he was making fun of her? Was she still embarrassed from the supermarket? He remembered how she inched behind him while they paid, how Ladybug — accustomed to camera flashes and imposing journalists — shied away from the CCTV as if she had stage fright. 

But Ladybug didn’t get hung up on things like that. She never lowered her head, her brow taut, over something as petty as that.

“My lady?” he said. 

A smile filled in the one that went missing. “It’s beautiful. But…”

He latched onto the _but_ . _But_ … it was all too extravagant. _But…_ it was a waste of money. _But_ … it was too obvious — the candles, the picnic, the macarons — and she didn’t feel the same way.

“...don’t you think,” she continued, “we’re being a little… unprofessional?”

Chat Noir’s released a huge sigh of relief. Then he realised what she said.

“Unprofessional?”

“Well, yeah.” She glanced over at the Dupain-Cheng box. “I mean, what if someone sees us? The candles make it a little indiscreet, don’t you think?”

She didn’t want to be seen? “You wanted to be… discreet?”

Ladybug twisted her foot around. “I just don’t want people to think we’re incompetent.”

“Why would a picnic make us incompetent?”

Swallowing, Ladybug looked down. Neither said anything, for a while, and Chat Noir watched his lady bite her bottom lip and stare fixedly at some moss sprouting between the shingles. Picnics and competence had no correlation. Why would sharing some food and looking out over Paris make them _incompetent?_ Shouldn’t they take advantage of the perks of being superheroes now that they were lucky enough to have them?

“People talk,” she said. “They talk about how we waste too much time playing when we should be making sure everybody’s safe. And after how _stupid_ I was today… should we really be doing this?”

Chat Noir’s mouth fell open.

He didn’t know Ladybug paid so much attention to the tabloids. She couldn’t possibly believe what people said — not her, at least. Chat Noir could take the blame. Sure, he tried his best to avoid those articles as best he could, but he knew he could at least focus a little more, but that wasn’t going to take away the handful of freedom being a superhero gave him. Ladybug was different — she didn’t ‘play around’. She saved the city almost every day and didn’t even ask for gratitude in return. If it weren’t for her, Paris would’ve long been a memory.

She deserved a break more than anyone else.

“You don’t really think it’s that scandalous to relax, right?” he asked. “We might be superheroes, Ladybug, but we’re human, too.”

“But we have so much responsibility—” 

“And how could we possibly do everything we’re responsible for if we’re not kicking back sometimes?”

Ladybug’s cheeks puffed out while she considered. Finally, the tension in her brow eased. “I guess you’re right.” And she was smiling again — grinning, even — just as she had been before. She dropped herself onto the rooftop, picked up the box behind her, and found the Coke bottle from one of the plastic bags. “Now. Are you gonna help me eat all this or what?” 

They ate until the temperature dropped, just as it usually did past eleven o’clock. Ladybug stood up and stretched; Chat Noir kept his eyes firmly on the plastic bag he filled up with their rubbish and not on the curve of her spine and her relaxed features and her lips coated in bakery sugar,

Maybe he glanced up _once_. But only once.

“We should do this more often,” he said, squashing the Dupain-Cheng box. 

“We should.”

Chat Noir’s head shot up.

She wanted to? She really wanted to? 

There Ladybug stood, robed with moonlight and candelight and _her_ light — the glowing, blinding Ladybug light that came from the apples of her cheeks and the flicker of her gaze — looking down at him while he looked up at her and telling him she wanted to do this again. He sat there, box squashed in his hands, dumbfounded. Her half-grin and furrowed brow had a chokehold on him, and he hoped to God she wasn’t expecting him to respond.

She wasn’t.

“Can I blow these out?” she asked, and picked up a yankee candle.

“Sure. They’re yours.”

Ladybug held the yankee candle to her chest. Chat Noir didn’t look up, this time. They had to tidy up before it got too late, otherwise Nathalie would realise Adrien wasn’t in bed and his face would be labelled as _MISSING_ on social media within five minutes flat. If Chat Noir looked up, looked at Ladybug and the candles, he’d be stuck on his knees on the rooftop until his legs were finally strong enough to haul himself home, and who knows how long that would take.

“They’re mine?” she said softly.

Truth be told, Chat Noir couldn’t stand scented candles. They gave him headaches, and made him feel sick. Even if he didn’t buy them just for her, just to see the ballerina in the moonlight, he would’ve packed them in a plastic bag and handed them to her happily.

“So you can light them and think of me.” This time, he raised his head, and winked.

He hoped she thought of him. Something in the way she threw her head back to laugh made him feel like she would.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

As always, Sabine sat on the couch, scrolling through her phone, waiting for Marinette. The Ladyblog hadn’t updated anything in the past three hours, and as it shied into midnight, Sabine began to chew at her lip.

That was, until, the front door clicked open.

Sabine quickly hid her phone beneath a cushion. “Marinette, do you have any idea what time of night it is?”

“I’m sorry, Maman.” She approached the sofa and kissed Sabine’s cheek. “Alya and I forgot to check the time, and I missed the last bus—”

“Did you at least eat something?” Sabine pushed her daughter’s hair out of her eyes.

“Oh, yeah. A friend brought me some food before I came home.”

They talked a little — quietly, so Tom wouldn’t wake up — before Marinette hugged her mother goodnight.

Sabine waited for the hatch to Marinette’s room to close before she pulled her phone out from beneath the cushion. She tapped on a picture of a CCTV screen from the Ladyblog. A blurry but decipherable image of Ladybug balancing a good number of candles in her arms and one on her angled leg.

Sabine shook her head and laughed. Opening her notes, she typed in a new entry onto her shopping list for tomorrow morning.

_Scented candles._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im a little ehhhh about this chapter, immmm not very confident with my writing here. orz
> 
> comments are always appreciated ! :D thank u for reading!


	3. drawing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey !!! i got a huge burst of inspiration for this fic and i reallyyyy love writing it now pffft,, enjoy!!

**_3 - drawing_ **

* * *

__

"This has to be a joke, or something," Marinette muttered. "Where am I gonna keep these?"

"You did want to buy more scented candles," Tikki said.

"When I said 'more', I meant maybe two or three. Not," Marinette gestured to the overflowing polythene bag, "all the candles in the supermarket."

Sabine woke Marinette up with a bag of scented candles. She mentioned a sale at the supermarket, and that she had them on the shopping list anyway, but no matter how hard Marinette racked her brain, she couldn’t remember  _ scented candles _ being on the list on her mother’s phone. Flour — yes. Baking soda — yes. Marinette even remembered that the butter she bought had to be unsalted and the sugar would have to be in a blue (not pink, the pink tasted wrong) packet.

She didn’t  _ mind _ , per se. It was just a coincidence, since she still had all the candles Chat Noir gave her the night before.

Now, Marinette had almost twenty scented candles sitting on her desk, and suddenly, her room was beginning to look a lot smaller. And a lot more flammable.

“Where am I even gonna  _ put _ them?” She rummaged through the brand new candles. 

“Why not put them around the edge of your desk?” 

“And set fire to all my fabrics? No way. Remember that time with that glass of water?”

Tikki nodded solemnly. 

“Exactly. Now imagine that, but with fire." Marinette shuddered. She had to wring out her favourite pink cotton and throw away two fabric pens. “I suppose I could light a few at a time. What sounds better, Tikki, ‘wild strawberries or ‘twisted peppermints’?” She picked up two candles.

“Peppermint is too strong. Light the strawberry one!” Tikki flew to Marinette’s other side while she fumbled in her draw for a matchbox. “I have a suggestion.”

“Yeah?” The first swipe across the matchbox failed.

“If you don’t know what to do with all the candles…”

Second swipe — still no flame.

“You could always…”

Third swipe — nothing.

“...find a time to light them with Chat Noir.”

The matchstick snapped in half. 

“Why would I do that?” Marinette asked.

Tikki moved to her shoulder while she struck another match. This time, it lit. “I’m sure he’d like them. Plus, you won’t have to worry about anything catching on fire.”

“Come on, Tikki. You know how he is. It’d look too much like a date.”

“Just like last night?” Tikki said. 

Marinette, matchstick dipped into the candlewick, froze.

“Last night wasn’t a date,” she said tightly, “it was a picnic.”

“With candles?”

“You can have candles at a picnic.”

“And your favourite macarons?”

“He’s brought me macarons before!”

Tikki pulled a wry face. “If you say so.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just think—”

The hatch behind her flung open. Tikki slipped into the bag hanging off Marinette’s desk chair while Alya hauled herself up, shaking raindrops out of her hair. She had her phone out already, pulled up onto what looked like the Ladyblog with a picture Marinette couldn't quite make out.

"Girl, you wouldn't believe this!" she cried, and rushed up to Marinette's desk chair. "Ladybug and Chat Noir were on a  _ date!" _

Marinette bristled. From her bag, Tikki snickered. 

Alya thrust the screen under her nose. She had to admit — it did look like a date.

The photo was captured at the wrong time — when their eyes met for a split second before Ladybug twirled away from Chat Noir to marvel at the rooftop. There was no 'look in their eyes', like Alya insisted in the background. They weren’t ‘having a moment’. It was all completely out of context. Marinette knew that. The photograph, nor the one hundred thousand people that liked the post, didn't. 

Alya zoomed into Chat Noir's blush. It  _ really _ looked like a date.

"Do you think they're a thing now?" Alya said. She turned her phone around to gawk at the picture. 

"What? No!" 

"Huh?"

"I-I mean…" Marinette floundered. She scratched the back of her head. "They're superheroes, right? I'm pretty sure they're too busy to be in a relationship. In fact, that probably wasn't even a date. They just wouldn't have the time."

“Girl, you’re in denial. Look.” She pushed her fingers into the screen and turned it back around. “Look how he’s looking at her. You don’t look at your  _ friends _ on a  _ friendly get together _ like that.”

“Maybe he just liked how the candles looked.”

“Oh yeah? Even though he’s looking directly at her?” Alya moved the picture around. “Come on. They’re so in love. He’s touching her!”

“They touch all the time.” 

“But he’s being so—” Alya cut herself off. Her face changed. The corner of her lips curled into a smile. “Oh. I see what’s going on.”

Marinette gulped. “Y-you do?”

“Oh, yeah.” She leaned over the desk chair, hands on her hips, looming over her with 'journalist eyes’ that peered through the water on her glasses. “You have a crush on Chat Noir.”

Marinette’s mouth dropped open.  _ “What?” _

“Listen, Marinette. Everyone loves Ladybug and Chat Noir, other than you. It all makes sense now,” she said. “As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure this all started right after you got over Adrien.”

Marinette blinked up at Alya. She scanned her face for any tell-tale signs — no twitchy mouth, no knowing look.  _ She wasn't kidding. _

Alya really thought Marinette had a crush on Chat Noir.

“Oh, God.” she put her head in her hands. “I do not like Chat Noir. He’s not my type.”

Alya clapped her hands together. “I can help you put pictures of him up on your walls! We don’t even need to print any new ones — you still have the pictures of Adrien you took down, right? We could just draw on cat ears and a mask and he’ll look almost exactly like Chat Noir!”

Marinette glanced warily at the cardboard box kicked beside her desk. She really had to get rid of those pictures, at some point. She didn’t even look at them anymore, not since she found out he loved someone else. It hurt for a while, but certainly not as long as she thought it would. Taking down the pictures made it easier, as well as keeping herself occupied. Marinette made more clothes in a month than she had in half a year. Between the stitching, and measuring fabric, and pricking her fingers more times than she should have, Marinette patched her heart back up as easily as a worn out teddy. 

And finally, after a whole year, she could have a complete, un-stuttered conversation with Adrien.

(Though it did take some time before she stopped leaving midway to cry in the girls’ bathroom.)

“I have absolutely no interest in Chat Noir. I couldn’t be less attracted to someone than him.” 

“Alright, girl. If you say so.”

Marinette rolled her eyes at Tikki’s echo. "Let's just go watch the movie."

Alya had the photo up on her phone throughout the entire walk to the metro, and before she lost signal, downloaded it to keep open in her gallery. She flashed her phone at Marinette every few minutes, insisting that Chat Noir was in love, and Ladybug was, too, and last night was certainly, most definitely a date. Distantly, Marinette wondered if Chat Noir thought the same. She imagined him waking up that morning and opening the Ladyblog to see a scarily high resolution picture of them, and smiling at how nice their  _ date _ went. 

It would've been Marinette's first date — if it were a date to begin with.

While Alya stooped over the candy, scooping it into her brown paper bag with the cinema’s emblem printed on the front, Marinette stood back and watched the trailers, unable to hear any of them over the noise. The afternoon rush stretched out the queue, despite the miserable weather, and Alya thought it would have been best to wait before they tried buying their tickets.

Marinette watched, an eyebrow raised, while a blonde actress she recognised from a metro ad threw her arms around her lover. The screen went black, and the release date popped up, too tiny to read from where she stood.

“Hey, Alya,” Marinette said, fiddling with her wet umbrella. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” She continued shovelling candy into her paper bag.

“What makes a date?”

Alya snorted. “That’s a weird question. Who’re you asking out?”

Marinette dropped the umbrella. “N-no one!”

She grinned. “Just saying, girl, but I think you’d have a better chance asking out Adrien rather than Chat Noir.”

“This isn’t about either of them!” 

“Sorry. It’s fun messing with you.”

Marinette huffed, bent down, and retrieved her umbrella off the floor. She wiped the rain on her fingers onto her jeans.

“Alright, no more jokes. I promise.” Alya bunched up her paper bag, and weighed it in her hand. “What do you mean, ‘what makes a date’?”

She shrugged, standing up. She wasn't sure why she was asking in the first place. 

“Like, for example," Marinette said, "how did you know—  _ I mean _ , what makes you think Ladybug and Chat Noir were on a date last night?”

“It just didn’t seem… platonic, I guess.” She pulled her phone out of the pocket. Alya didn’t even have to unlock it — the picture was her lockscreen, which she examined for a few seconds. Marinette quickly averted her gaze. “They look like they’re in love.”

“But they’re not,” Marinette said quickly.

“Neither of us know that.” She pocketed her phone, and made her way to the back of the queue. 

Marinette followed suit, and grabbed a packet of chocolate buttons before they lined up. “So that’s what a date is? When two people in love hang out?”

“People go on dates where only one person’s in love, you know.” Alya sent her an amused look. 

Marinette’s heart thudded.  _ Last night was not a date _ . “But isn’t that unfair on the one who… isn’t in love?”

“Unfair?” They both shuffled forward as the line moved. “Why would it be unfair?”

“Well…” She played with the plastic packet in her hands. “What if the other person doesn’t know it’s a date?”

“Oh, the other person always knows.” Alya winked. “Trust me.”

Dumbfounded, Marinette followed Alya up to the front desk. She set a hand against the warm popcorn window while Alya bought their tickets.

Last night wasn’t a date.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

When Chat Noir jumped down, he thought she was ignoring him. A steamed up car couldn't have caught Ladybug's interest as much as she let on, so of course, the only reason she could be stuck to its side in a shallow grey puddle would be to avoid him.

Then Chat Noir approached her, and found her hand moving, arm swaying side to side, pointer finger running over the steam. She drew paths into the window, doodles of hearts and flowers and a thick-lined dress, but those were from before. Fresh in the steam, Ladybug traced a sweeping fringe above a boy's forehead.

"Are you sure you're supposed to be doing that, my lady?"

Immediately, like a programmed reaction, Ladybug flattened her hand against the window and wiped the boy away. She whipped around, eyes wide, hands quivering.

"Yes-- I mean, no! I'm not, but I wasn't really thinking-- I mean I  _ was  _ thinking, but I sort of... zoned out,  _ aha, _ I'll just..." She cleaned off all the steam. The hearts, the flowers, the thick-lined dress.

An inexplicable twang of familiarity pricked him. Stuttery lips, frantic eyes, the smell of macarons and homemade bread clinging to skin and clothes. He could almost smell it then, when she turned back to fix him a nervous smile -- as clear as perfume.

"Oh? A dirty secret?" He leaned in.  _ Macarons and homemade bread.  _ "I'm intrigued."

She fumbled for a moment, backstepped into the puddle, and braced a hand against the car. Ladybug pressed her cold finger to his nose and pushed him away.

"I don't have any dirty secrets."

"So you say. I'll trade mine for yours."

She raised an eyebrow. "I don't think I want to know."

"Please? I'm curious. What were you drawing?"

Ladybug sighed and faced the window. The drawings reappeared under her foggy breath.

"Nothing important." And before he could press anymore, she unwound her yo-yo, and splashed her left foot into the puddle. "Ready for patrol?"

He supposed he was. But he wouldn't let that be the end of it.

The next day, Chat Noir dumped out his pencil case and scooped up everything he could. Blunt Crayolas, short HB pencils, and pens that leaked all over his costume and made him glad they were both black. He grabbed an exercise book hanging off his desk and sprung out of his window. He hoped Ladybug would show up.

He hoped all the way to the metro station, until he found her. First, he heard her -- her feet pattering, stationary, at the bottom of the stairwell. Chat Noir met her eyes in the reflection on her yo-yo, which she seemed to be inspecting again.

"Late to your own rendezvous." She placed her yo-yo on the stair below her. "Another errand, huh?"

"Sort of."

He crouched beside her and waved the exercise book in her face. She leafed through the blank, gridded pages with one hand.

Ladybug wrinkled her nose. "You called me out here to do maths?"

Time for the finishing touch. He released his fist above her lap. Crayolas, HB pencils, and leaky pens. She gasped, and grabbed at them before they rolled onto the wet cement.

She flicked her head up. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"You like drawing, don't you?"

Her nose unwrinkled, frown smoothed out. Ladybug stared up at him. "How do you know that?"

"Because of the car. If you can draw that well on a window, I bet you're even better on paper."

Ladybug's hand recoiled from the exercise book. "I'm really not that good."

"Come on. Please. We can draw together! Look, I'll start." Chat Noir snatched the leaky pen out of Ladybug's hand and started. A circle here, a line there, a trail of bleeding ink right underneath, and in an apprehensive ten seconds, he was done. He sucked in his laughter. "It's you."

She peered down at it. Her eyebrows rose, much like they did after he called her pretty, or kissed her hand, or did something or the other that made her call him a ladykiller, and he anticipated the scolding with a smiling cheek.

At the corner of a page, Chat Noir drew a circle with a face, a polka dot mask, and two comical pigtails. He labelled it 'Ladybug' for good measure.

She looked at it for a moment, then started to laugh. "Give me that pen. I wanna draw you, too."

He obliged, then the exercise book became hers. 

Ladybug pressed her back to the wall, a knee to her chest, a leg outstretched, just like that time on the roof when he first brought her macarons. She scribbled, and drew, and stuck her tongue out between her lips as she kept her eyes lowered to her -- his -- pen. Even with her calf soaked in rainwater and irregular cement, Ladybug didn't move. Sometimes, she glanced up, and when she did, he swore she stole one of his heartbeats as soon as she looked back down.

The realisation came overwhelmingly.

Chat Noir really, really wanted to kiss Ladybug.

He almost flinched as it pierced his brain -- Cupid's arrow, with Ladybug's name written with that leaky pen on the shaft.

What would she do if he did? Leave, probably. He couldn't just kiss her out of the blue like that. But she bit her lips, and stuck out her tongue, and even against the miserable cement, she was still beautiful. Ladybug: tapping her mouth with his leaky pen. A knee to her chest, a leg outstretched. Ink on her cheek, below her mask, adjacent to a freckle anomalous to the pattern on her cheeks.

"Done," she said. "Don't get too blown away by my artistry."

He would have moved the book around, but Ladybug, sliding against the stair, rearranging her legs, pressed her arm to his and presented the book across both their laps.

Chat Noir had been sure her artistry comment was sarcastic. Now, met with the declaration of her talent, he thought it to be blasphemy to even think she wasn't talented. 

Ladybug turned his leaky pen into a paintbrush, his exercise book a canvas, and him a masterpiece. Not all the lines met each other, and an ink blot merged his left eye to his fringe, and it was perfect. 

Chat Noir took back his exercise book. “Can I keep this?”

“I mean, I guess. It’s your exercise book, anyway.”

“It looks so good!”

She gave him a half-smile. “You just can’t get enough of your own face, can you?”

Chat Noir flicked back to his Ladybug scribble, and folded the pages beside each other. “I believe it looks better beside yours, my lady.”

Ladybug tilted her head back against the cement and laughed.

And Chat Noir still wanted to kiss her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked this chapter !! <3 please let me know what u think if u want..... :')


	4. racing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alya plays matchmaker, marinette doesn't want to date, and chat noir gets a painting from a certain bug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you didnt _really_ think i gave up on this fic, did you?

_**4 - racing** _

* * *

"You think he'll like it?"

"Like it? He's gonna love it!"

Marinette held her notebook and examined it thoughtfully. While adding the final strokes of watercolour the night before, Marinette worried she may have been overdoing it. Her reaction was out of her hands — Chat Noir just looked so happy when she drew him, she couldn't not give him a portrait she didn't draw at the bottom of a wet metro station with a leaky black pen. Marinette was just glad that the watercolours didn't fail her. She hadn't opened them in months, and her skill level was questionable, but after three hours of working before going to bed, the painting was definitely one she was proud of.

Tikki giggled from her perch on Marinette's shoulder. "It was really thoughtful of you to do this for Chat Noir."

Marinette carefully pulled the paper away from its perforated edge. "He's my friend. He always wants to make me happy, so if I can do something as simple as drawing him to make him happy, why wouldn't I?"

"I'm sure you could do a lot less and he'd still be happy."

Familiar with the route of the conversation, Marinette glared at Tikki. "We're _friends_."

“Well… I’ve never seen you paint full watercolour portraits for any of your other friends.”

“The time never asked for it! You know what? Maybe I’ll paint Alya next time I’m free.” She sent her a half-smile. “Or are you jealous that I’ve never painted a full watercolour portrait for you?”

Tikki didn’t respond. She only looked at her knowingly.

“I don’t have feelings for Chat Noir,” Marinette insisted, and continued to pull at the perforation. “He means a lot to me, okay? And he does so much for me. The last thing I want is for him to feel like this is a one-sided friendship.”

“That’s an understandable fear, Marinette. But shouldn’t you sit down with him and talk about it rather than—”

“Painting a full watercolour portrait?” she finished. “You have a point. But I don’t want to bring it up unless he really feels that way. I don’t want to dig up problems when there aren’t any to begin with.”

“Why does this matter to you all of a sudden?” Tikki asked. “I mean, you both have been fine with your dynamic the past year. I wouldn’t have thought you need to prove you care about him.”

Marinette sighed. “I’m not just doing it to prove I care about him. I know he knows that already.”

“Then what is it for?”

She detached the last bit of the paper and stared at it. Watercolours were difficult. Mixing colours was a hassle, and Chat Noir’s suit could have came out blue if she didn’t fix it last minute. The paint got everywhere, too, including her handwritten organic chemistry notes she left beside her working space after running them through the photocopier. Marinette still had smears of bright green and yellow dried on her hands. 

But she had fun. She loved every second of painting Chat Noir, and she couldn’t wait to see his face once she gave it to him.

Marinette set the painting on top of her notes. “I should finish getting ready,” she said, and closed her notebook.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

For once, she was early.

Under other circumstances, perhaps, she would have been happy — an extra few minutes to do her homework, or finish that hand-sewn piece she'd been carrying around in case the right moment presented itself.

Under this circumstance? Where Alya was using the words _Marinette_ and _date_ in a conversation with Adrien and Nino? 

Not so happy.

She slammed her bag onto her desk. "What are you talking about?"

Alya barely flinched. "Your singleness."

"Oh, God." Marinette sank into her seat. "Here we go."

"It's not a bad thing, Marinette," Adrien supplied. He even offered her a smile, which she wasn't in the mood to return. "You'll find someone, soon."

"Maybe I don't _want_ to find someone."

Adrien's smile faltered. Marinette's face dropped. It came out laced with venom she didn't know she had, and venom against _Adrien_ , who'd only meant to be kind— 

"Sure, Miss I'm-crushing-on-a-superhero."

_"Alya!"_

"A superhero?" Nino gawked. "Which one?"

"Well, let's just say Marinette has a thing for blonds."

Scandalised and flushed, Marinette yanked her bag off the table. _"Alya!"_

"Chat Noir?" Adrien turned almost fully in his seat to look up at Marinette. "You have a crush on Chat Noir?"

"I _do not_."

"She _so_ does."

 _"Alya,"_ Marinette hissed for the third time, "what happened to Girl Code?"

She let out an exuberant laugh. "It doesn't fall under Girl Code! Unless you actually _do_ have a crush on Chat Noir."

Alya leaned in, so alike to Chat Noir's knack (habit, Marinette corrected herself, terrible habit) of closing in on her on one of his playful nights. 

"No," Marinette declared. "I don't."

"See!" Alya returned to her seat. "I'm just teasing."

"So I'm guessing you don't have a thing for blonds?" Adrien said.

Marinette's mouth faltered. 

_He's not flirting, and you don't care if he is_.

“Girl, I know tons of blonds!” Alya picked her phone up from the table and tapped at it rapidly, until she turned the screen to face them. She scrolled through her Instagram following. “Alexandre, Sebastien, Alphonse—”

“Adrien,” Nino supplied, and swung an arm around his neck.

Marinette coloured deeply.

“H-how do you know so many boys?” she asked Alya. Then, with a smile, and a sneaky grab for her phone, “don’t tell me you’re creeping around Nino.”

“Are you crazy? No way, these guys are from my old school.” She snatched her phone out of Marinette’s vicinity. “Now, do you prefer nerds or jocks?”

She threw her head back and groaned.

“I wouldn’t think Marinette’s into jocks,” Adrien said.

“You’re right,” Alya countered, “don’t even know why I asked.”

"Neither do I!" Marinette said. "I'm not ready to date anyone, Alya."

"What about Adrien?" Nino, arm still around him, suggested. "Neither of you are seeing anyone, right bro?"

Marinette floundered. Nino certainly meant well, as he always did, but those stifling moments were growing in number, and she wasn't sure how many more secret glances she could exchange with Alya for an emergency topic change before people realised Adrien plus Marinette equalled _forbidden territory_.

"Dude, Marinette's not into me," Adrien said, with an eye-roll and a smile and a chuckle and _God_ did Marinette want to die. "I would know if she was."

Her heartbeat, stuck in her throat, stopped her from saying something stupid.

"Plus, maybe we should stay away from friend groups," Alya said. She shot Marinette a worried look from under her glasses. "Right?"

She nodded. "Right."

Alya smirked.

"Wait, no, not right! I don't want to date at all!"

"So… Alexandre?"

" _Alya!"_

Miss Bustier's entrance cut their conversation short, and for that, Marinette was glad.

She wasn't joking when she said she wasn't ready.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

Eating out was a last minute idea — even Marinette wasn’t sure if her mother would let her. After coming home so late after her rendezvous (a rendezvous wasn’t a date) with Chat Noir, she anticipated at least a little reluctance when she called to let Sabine know. She was only met with a ‘be back before dark’ and a quick ‘love you’ before Alya was dragging them all to _Le Café du Coin_.

“I’m so glad your father let you eat with us, today,” Marinette said, and slid to the far side of the booth. Alya took the seat in front of her, Nino beside her, which left Adrien with Marinette.

“Actually, he thinks we’re at school.” Adrien rubbed the back of his neck. “I told him I was getting some extra fencing practice in before all my photoshoots this week.”

Nino, who had been playing with the salt shaker, stopped. “You’re gonna be busy all week?” 

“Afraid so.” He shrugged. “But I promise I’ll have a little more free time soon. I’ll make sure I hang out with all of you.”

“Don’t wear yourself out, though.” Marinette said, placing a hand on his forearm. “We want you in one piece.”

He met her eyes. “Thank you, Marinette.”

She looked away, and snatched her hand back, too.

Outside the window, a street lamp flickered on. At this time of year, sunset came much earlier in Paris. It was getting harder and harder to patrol with Chat Noir.

She twiddled her thumbs as the rest of the streetlamps across the road switched on. She hoped she could give him her painting, that evening. 

Then, she clasped her hands tight, and forced herself to concentrate on the menu. It was either that, or unzip her bag, tug out her painting, and do a double-check (was it really only _double_ anymore?). It had become an obsession over the course of the day, and an unhelpful one at that: Alya, as all journalists — budding or otherwise — were, was painfully curious, and Marinette staring intently at her notebook before slamming it shut was sure to raise more than just _her_ eyebrows.

Tikki was evidence enough that painting a full watercolour piece of a boy _may_ make it seem like you like him.

(Marinette didn’t).

She managed to get through choosing their meals, handing Alya and Nino her menu, and watching them leave their booth to take their orders without sneaking a peak at Chat Noir’s painting. Maybe she had missed a bristle stuck in the colours when she pulled it out _yet again_ while waiting for Alya outside their classroom. 

A little check wouldn’t _hurt_.

Slowly, she stuck her hand into her bag, and, pinching it between her thumb and forefinger, lifted out her notebook.

“What are you doing?”

_“Ah!”_

The notebook fell out of her grip and onto the vinyl. Out scattered her loose sheets, folded up class notes, and her painting, facedown.

Adrien peered under the table. “Oops — I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not a big deal.”

The two leaned forward. Their heads smacked together.

“Ouch.”

“Sorry.”

Adrien already had his arm wedged in between them, and had gathered up her things before she could make a start for them. Politely, he tucked her Chemistry notes back in, but was yet to return the painting. Marinette fiddled with a buttonhole on her mackintosh.

“Chat Noir?” he said, marvelling at the watercolour. “I didn’t think you were a fan.”

She cast her eyes down. “I— uh, well, it’s not that I’m a _fan_ , exactly…”

“Does someone have a _crush?”_ He elbowed her side. Marinette jolted a little harder than she should have.

“I do _not_. You’re turning into Alya.”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone’s got a crush on Chat Noir.”

“Except me.”

He looked back down at the painting. “You sure?”

“It’s a _gift_ ,” she bit, and snatched the notebook from him. “For… for a friend — yeah! She loves Chat Noir.”

“Well, that’s very cool of you, Marinette.” He winked at her. “I’m sure your _friend_ will love it.”

Flushed, she packed the painting back into her notebook (after a quick inspection under the amber restaurant glow) and shoved it back into her bag. This time, she slid it to her other side — away from Adrien.

"I hope this isn't a weird question," he began, "but why's Alya trying to set you up with someone?"

Marinette, still stooped towards her bag, snapped her head around.

"Just curious!" He raised his hands in defence. "Since it happened so suddenly."

 _Suddenly_ was one way to put it.

She swallowed, and, careful not to bang into the edge of the table, sat up straight. "Well, uh, I've sorta just gotten over this boy I used to like. I guess Alya thinks I need a rebound."

His eyebrows shot up.

"I _don't_ need a rebound," she added hastily. "Actually, I'd rather not date anyone at all."

"How come?"

Amidst their silence, Marinette played with the salt shaker Nino left on the table. Even if she wanted to explain, her throat, tight and burning, wouldn't be much of an ally to her.

She didn't cry over Adrien anymore. It was something else that hurt.

"Just…" She twirled the salt shaker. "We're better off being friends."

"Do I know him?"

The salt shaker tumbled in her hands. It sprayed across the table, in front of them, just as Alya and Nino were coming back.

"We can't leave you alone for two minutes," Alya said, and grabbed a napkin. "Here."

Quietly, Marinette used it to clean the salt. She pretended not to notice Adrien watching her.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

A slam on the rooftop, before a thunderstorm of footsteps matched her pace.

“To the last chimney on this street,” Chat Noir said beside her.

Ladybug’s mouth curled into a grin, and she upped her speed until the wind lashed at her cheeks.

“Weapons or none?” she asked against a shallow breath.

“Weapons, of course.”

Ladybug yanked her yo-yo away from her waist and swung it around to gain momentum. She accelerated, threw back her arm, and latched it onto a balcony railing before hauling herself across the gap. She kept running. Used her yo-yo around a thick pipe on the next building until her feet hit the rooftop once again and bounced her back into action.

Chat Noir’s baton clicked behind her. He wasn’t too far behind.

Other than the footsteps, her own heartbeat was loud in her ears. Normally she’d turn around, smirk at Chat Noir, tease him for not keeping up and, to rub it in, go even faster.

She didn’t, this time. 

Ladybug took another leap between two rooftops before she was on top of another skyscraper, before taking a look around. Chat Noir was nowhere near her. She slowed to a stop, and did a full turn.

“You passed the chimney,” he said behind her.

She whirled around. “I did?”

“Yeah. It’s way over there.” He pointed back in the distance with the end of his baton. “You still won though. Thought you’d like to know that.”

Ladybug expelled a gust of breath, wound up her yo-yo, and stretched out her arms. 

“You okay, my lady?” he asked. Chat Noir tucked his baton back into his belt.

“For sure,” she said as she bent over and flattened her palms against the rooftop to stretch her hamstring. “Nothing happened.”

“Alright.” He blocked the streetlights in front of her when he squatted down to meet her eyes. “So the impromptu sprint across the skyline was just something you wanted to try out?”

“I just felt like racing you.”

“You didn’t even know I was here.”

Ladybug narrowed her eyes at him, then sighed. “Fine. I was blowing off some steam.”

When she stood, Chat Noir did too. “What happened?”

"My friends just…" Before speaking, she swallowed her pettiness. "They've been trying to set me up with someone."

"Oh, My Lady, you should tell them about me. I'm a willing suitor."

She ignored him, and paced towards the edge of the rooftop. "I don't want to date."

"What about the boy you're in love with?"

Sighing, she crossed her arms and looked down at the road. 

After a silence, too long to be companionable, Chat Noir joined her. “Love troubles?”

“It’s not a trouble, Chat Noir.” She tightened her arms. “It’s just complicated.”

“I’m a good listener, you know. We can talk about it if you want.”

Ladybug sent him a conflicted look. Identities were one issue, but his feelings were another. He may have been ready to take the hit, but she wasn’t ready to throw it.

“I’m not in love with him anymore,” she said, turning back to the street. “I’ve moved on.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

She chewed on her bottom lip, and shut her eyes against the lamp lights.

Walls and desks and diary pages filled and _filled_ with pictures of him. A calendar she didn’t even need to look at to know that fencing was at 16:05, dinner was at 17:30, and Chinese was at 18:00. Stuttering and stumbling and trembling, reaching out for love while he reached out for friendship.

Marinette had been on the brink of ruining it all and she had pulled herself out of that mess before she lost him all together. It wasn’t fair on him. And she told herself never to do the same thing to someone else.

“I’m scared,” Ladybug whispered. 

That provoked another silence. She didn’t move, and nor did he.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked finally.

Ladybug opened her eyes when she felt them smart. She ducked away, rubbing at her lashes, and sniffed into the back of her hand.

“Wanna race to the Louvre?” she said, her back to him, poising herself against the shingles.

Behind her, he still didn’t move. But then there was a sigh, and his footsteps came around until he was at her side.

“Weapons or none?”

“Weapons.” She unwound her yo-yo, and, right before launching it back, gasped. “Oh, I forgot! I made you something.”

“Really?”

With a last wipe to her nose, Ladybug opened her yo-yo, reached in, and through the white light, pulled out a brown A4 envelope. She had passed the post office on the way back from the restaurant, and it was sheer luck she had the exact change for it buried in her mackintosh. 

She handed it to him. “For you.”

“M-me?” 

When he dug his claw beneath the label, Ladybug grabbed his wrist. “If I beat you, you have to wait until you get home to open it.”

“Hah!” He held the envelope under his arm to shake on it. “You’re on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter: [maketca](https://twitter.com/maketca)  
> tumblr: [rosekasa](https://rosekasa.tumblr.com/)


	5. ribbons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> adrien's in _looooooove_  
>  ladybug's in _paaaaain_

**5 - ribbons**

* * *

Adrien stared down at Ladybug’s painting. He stared at the rosy watercolours on his cheeks, the squint in his smiling eyes, the apple-green of his sclera.

He stared at the painting that fell out of Marinette’s bag that afternoon.

“She’s Ladybug,” he blurted out.

“Who is?” Plagg said around a wheel of cheese.

“Marinette.”

Plagg spluttered. Adrien sympathised.

" _ What? _ " Plagg said, abandoning his cheese wheel (it was a serious situation) to find what tipped him off. "Come on, Adrien. Ladybug could've commissioned her."

"Marinette wouldn't lie about a commission. It'd make more sense than drawing it for a friend."

Plagg struggled. "Maybe it's meant to be a secret?"

"Plagg, this is Ladybug's art style. Look." He approached his trophy case, and brought out from his fencing cup the scrap of paper Ladybug had scribbled him on. For comparison, he held the painting up to it. "See? The eyes, the nose, the little blush on the cheeks…"

A blush he felt crawling up his face, probably nowhere near as beautiful as Ladybug—  _ Marinette _ had watercoloured.

Even her drawings were adorable.

“You’re not gonna tell her, are you?” Plagg asked.

“Of course I’m not gonna tell her.” He didn't look away from the painting.  _ Marinette. _ "Wow, I just can't believe…"

"Don't tell me you're gonna start waxing poetic about  _ Marinette  _ now," Plagg whined. "You're bad enough as it is."

"How could I have been so blind?" Carrying both the scrap of paper and the painting, he drifted up to his bed and collapsed onto the mattress. He held both up to the light, and sighed. " _ Marinette… _ "

"You're insufferable." Plagg zipped back to his cheese wheel and bit off an indignant chunk. "But isn't Alya trying to get Marinette a boyfriend?"

Adrien shot up. The painting fell to his lap. "She is, isn't she?"

Plagg nodded around a mouthful. "And you're on the no-date list."

"That's not true!"

"'Maybe we should stay away from friend groups'."

Adrien groaned, fell back onto the bed, and pulled a pillow onto his face.

"Quit pouting. You still have a chance," Plagg said. "You could always toss your hat in the ring."

"Yeah right. How?"

"Text Alya, ' _ Hey! I'm in love with your best friend. Please set me up with her _ .'"

Adrien pondered the idea for a moment. He almost released the pillow and went to retrieve his phone.

"And if Marinette finds out?" he asked, still beneath the pillow.

"Oh well, what can you do?"

This time, Adrien did move the pillow — only to launch it across the bed at Plagg. "You're no help."

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

After checking his reflection in the car window, Adrien hopped out, said a quick goodbye to the Gorilla, and headed towards Alya and Nino. They were chatting by the steps, Alya showing him something on her phone, while a girl with dark hair around her shoulders stood hunched over by the railing.

“Good morning,” he said once in speaking distance.

“What’s so great about it,” the girl huffed, turning around, and suddenly, he was looking at Marinette.

Her fringe lapped at her brows, and one of her scarlet hair ties hung between her teeth. Dark and thick, her hair fell through her fingers languidly, and when she finished combing her hand through, curled around her cheek.

“Girl, I told you already, you look great with your hair down.” Alya coiled a piece around her finger, turning to Adrien. “Tell her she looks great.”

He gulped. “You look great, Marinette.”

She sighed, stretched out her other hair tie between her fingers, and bunched up a pigtail on her left. “Thanks.”

With her head titled, face to the sun, a perfect shadow caught against her throat. He followed it, like a smooth stream of water, up to where her hair was tucked behind her ear. Her Miraculous winked back at him.

Adrien averted his eyes.

"I told you to buy new ties on the way back yesterday," Alya admonished.

"She's got a point, dude," Nino said. "The boutique was right next to the restaurant."

"I was in a rush," she defended, looping the tie around once, then twice, before it came undone again. "I told you my mum wanted me home before dark."

"Which was why you went to the post office, girl?"

The scarlet tie snapped against Marinette's wrist. 

"I was… buying a notepad. For my commissions! Need to stay on track, you know?" She laughed uneasily, shaking out her hair.

Adrien wondered whether it'd be inappropriate to ask her to keep it loose. 

“Or,” Alya countered, and slid up to Marinette, an arm sneaking around her shoulders, “were you meeting one of the guys I found for you?”

Adrien’s stomach twisted.

“Absolutely  _ not _ .” Marinette shucked her off. “Why would I meet them at a post office, anyway?”

“I’m a  _ journalist _ . You think I don’t know what people do to throw off suspicion?”

Marinette rolled her eyes, and tried once more to tie up her hair.

Now paying attention (to the bluish veins in her wrist, the scarlet band wrapped around them like ribbon, slipping off the jut of her thumb and knuckles while she pulled it into her hair) Adrien saw what the problem was. Her tie was wearing, the cotton receding to show the elastic beneath, and was too loose to stay around her pigtails.

(He was not thinking about grabbing her hand, opening up her palm and kissing it, kissing her wrist, kissing the bluish veins).

Nino set a hand on his shoulder. "Bro, you good?"

Adrien blinked. 

He was daydreaming about kissing his lady's wrist.

"Yeah, yeah, just tired. Photoshoot week." He pressed the back of his hand against one of his hot cheeks. "Can't wait for it to be over."

"Why don't you take a nap at lunch?" Alya suggested. "That's what Marinette does. Though she doesn't really wait until lunch."

Marinette scoffed around her hair tie, sidestepping out of the way as more students milled up to the school. " _ Alya _ ."

"I'm just saying it as it is! Even Ms Bustier's getting worried." Alya shot her a smirk. "You know, loneliness can affect sleep patterns. Maybe you  _ do  _ need a boyfriend."

Marinette sighed. "Seriously, Alya. Give it a rest."

"Dupain- _ Cheng _ ? Getting a  _ boyfriend _ ?"

Oh, brother.

Despite Chloé being a full step above them, Marinette refused to crane her neck. "Lay off, Chloé," she said. "We weren't even talking to you."

"You won't be doing much  _ t-t _ -talking with your boyfriend, either." She held prissy hand up to her mouth and laughed. "Pl _ ease _ . Boys usually go for girls who can get a sentence out around them."

Adrien braced for Marinette's riposte. It didn't come. 

She was standing there, lips parted, hair tie slipping down her forearm. 

Alya sprang into action. "Hey. Marinette's amazing. Anyone would be lucky to have her."

"Yeah. Don't talk to Marinette like that," Nino said. "She's awesome."

"If by awesome you mean  _ embarrassing _ . She always goes for guys out of her league. As  _ if _ she’d have a chance with someone like Ad—"

The morning bell interrupted her. She eyed the speechless Marinette, flicked her peroxide ponytail, and headed up the stairs.

Adrien looked back at Marinette. As did Nino. And Alya. Perhaps he was awaiting the wrong thing (a retort, a snort, a shake of her head and an eye-roll about how Chloé just loved pushing all her buttons).

Alya took a different stance. She placed a hand on Marinette's back. "You okay?"

Looking down, Marinette toyed with her hair ties. "Yeah, don't worry. I'm gonna go find somewhere to do my hair before class starts. Don't wait up."

And before anyone could stop her — before Adrien could reach out, call her his lady, his  _ Bugaboo _ — she turned on her heel and walked away from the steps, around to the back of the building.

"We'd better get going," Nino said to Alya, though they were still watching Marinette.

"Yeah." Alya nodded, and placed her foot on the first step. "You coming, Adrien?"

Marinette disappeared around the building. 

"I'll catch up with you guys in a bit. Go on without me."

Once they were out of sight, Adrien followed her to the back of the school.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

He found her by the sports' pitch, peering at her reflection in the window looking into the staircase. She still hadn’t tied her hair, but was still trying — looping the tie around once, then twice.

“Hey,” he said behind her.

She jumped, but didn’t turn around. “A-Adrien, what’re you doing here?”

_ Stuttery lips and frantic eyes.  _ “Just came to check on you.”

“You didn’t have to,” she said, tugging the band from her hair again. It had crimped after all the times she’d tried and failed to secure it. “You’ll be late for class.”

“So will you.” He stepped closer, enough to see a shine in her waterline that wasn’t just from the sunlight against the window. “You shouldn’t listen to Chloé. She can be a bit…”

“Of a brat?” 

Adrien winced. “You know how she is.”

Marinette huffed, and pulled her dark hair out of her collar. A cloud of her perfumed scent wafted into his face.

_ Macarons and homemade bread _ .

Against his better judgement, he put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Alya was right. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

She froze, knuckles deep in her hair.

Then, her lower lip trembled, she glanced away — up, far from his inspection — then, with her free hand, covered her eyes and took in one, shaky breath. She let it go with a sniffle.

“Marinette?” He came closer.

She wiped her cheeks hastily, and shook her head. “I’m fine. You should get back to class.”

And she went back to fixing her hair, mouth clamped shut, lashes wet, shoulders juddering everytime she breathed.

Seeing her like that, Adrien wanted to cry, too.

Daring, he reached over — reached, and brushed his fingers against the shell of her ear. 

She jerked. He didn’t move.

“Could I do it for you?” he asked softly.

For a while, she didn’t respond. Adrien almost pulled his hand back, but the skin there was so warm, so  _ real _ , smooth at the edge and fuzzy with thin, premature hairs, he couldn’t bring himself to part from it. It was the closest he’d ever been to his lady.

If he could lean in and kiss her there, lips at her blushing ear, cheek on her dark hair—

Silently, Marinette held up her wrist. She watched his reflection, and he watched hers.

Adrien grasped her arm, and (with great reluctance) took his hand from her head to slide the scarlet hair ties up and off her fingers.

She stood still while he did her hair — combed it back with his fingers (that was  _ Ladybug’s hair _ between  _ his fingers _ ), smoothed it down with his palm, tied it back using both bands into a low bun. 

Staring at the apex of her neck, he swallowed. Baby hairs swept the top of her spine, which was embellished with freckly fair skin.

She was right in front of him, right beneath his hands. He could’ve leaned in, brushed his lips there, buried his nose into those baby hairs and inhaled her sweetness.

“Done,” he said, but it came out more as a breath.

“Thanks,” she said, and reached back to feel. He pulled his hand away before they could touch.

He was done for.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

“Why the long face, Bugaboo?”

“Don’t call me—” She sighed, not in the mood to argue. “Long day.”

She tight-roped the rest of the way on the rooftop ridge before taking a seat beside him. Ladybug pulled up her knees and tucked them under her chin, hands resting on the backs of her thighs while she looked up at the chimneys strewn across the street.

"Wanna call off patrol?" he offered. He began to stand, brushing off his suit. "I'd rather you go home and get some rest—"

Ladybug's hand shot forward and grabbed his wrist. "Wait."

She had her eyes closed too long to see the look he was giving her, but she decided it was better if she didn't. She was being peculiar, she knew that, and on top of everything, awkwardness wasn't something she wanted to address.

"I just wanna spend some time with you," she confessed. "It's been a long day, and it'd be nice if we could just… hang out."

He didn't sit right away. Chat Noir stood a moment longer, before slowly, he lowered back to the ridge. This time, Ladybug closed her eyes again, and rested her head against his shoulder. His suit was cold and firm, but she snuggled closer, cheek warning up against the leather, until she could finally call herself comfortable.

Chat Noir rested the side of his face on her hair.

"Thank you for the painting," he said to her. "I love it, but my kwami is out to get you. I won't shut up about it.

Ladybug giggled. "Poor Plagg."

"Your fault." Hesitantly, his arm came around and wrapped around her shoulders. "I got you a thank-you gift."

In his arms, she turned to look up. "Really?"

"W-well, it's not that much — not like your painting — but…" He scratched the back of his head, laughing nervously, before unzipping a pocket at his side and digging around. "I… got you these."

When he brought his hand out, there were two pieces of pink ribbon in his palm. They were pre-cut, of course, to the same length of her hair.

"They're gorgeous," she said, and ran her finger across their silky bodies. Then, she sat up, and started turning her back to him. "Could you do my hair?"

His eyes widened. "M-me?"

"Yes, you, silly." She shook her head fondly, reaching up to pull out her pigtails. "I'm not good with ribbons on myself. My mum always has to help me."

He snapped out of his stupor, grinned, and shuffled closer. "I'm your mum now?"

She laughed while he combed her loose hair back with his claws and separated it. "That'd be weird."

Ladybug looked down at the inanimate street below them. Cars were parked around the perimeter of the narrow road, street lights flanking one every so often, but there were no people. It was wonderfully private, in a way that made her worry less about prying phone cameras insisting  _ Ladynoir were on a date! _

They weren't. He was just doing her hair.

Curious, she palpated the back of her head. "Are you doing French braids?"

He made a muffled affirmative. He must've been keeping the ribbon in his mouth. "The nicest hairstyle I know," he said around it.

"Oh? Which girls have you been charming with your hairdressing techniques?"

She felt the ribbon brush the top of her neck, and he chuckled. "My mother."

"Oh?"

Beginning the first braid, a smile broke through Chat Noir's voice. "I loved how long her hair was when I was little. I kept wanting to play with it all the time, so she taught me how to braid so I could tie her hair for her whenever I wanted."

"Are you too macho to do her hair now?" she snorted.

His hands faltered. Chat Noir sighed. "No, she, uh… she's not around anymore."

Ladybug's heart dropped.

"But I'd still love to do her hair now," he added. "I miss it sometimes. So thank you for letting me do this."

Ladybug swallowed. "Chat Noir, I'm so sorry."

"Don't sweat it. It's okay."

She played with her fingers, making sure she kept her head straight while he finished the first half of her hair. "You can do my hair whenever you feel like it. I wouldn't mind."

He paused against the top of her neck. "Thank you, My Lady."

No longer braiding, Chat Noir fixed the end with a bow. He moved onto the next section.

"What's your sad story?" he asked.

"My 'sad story'?"

"Everyone has one." He scooped up the baby hairs behind her sideburn. "There must've been something that was bothering you today."

Reaching up, she felt the braid at her right come along under her fingers. She didn't say anything.

"What about… the boy you were in love with?" he tried.

Ladybug's lips drew into a firm line. "You don't wanna hear about that."

"C'mon. I traded you my sad story. Gimme yours."

She laughed. "Why're you so set on this?"

"Because if you talk about your sad story enough, it starts feeling a little less sad."

Ladybug considered for a second. He didn't press any more.

"I hated him, at first," she said softly.

"Poor guy. He's had to face your temper."

"Hey." She poked her elbow into his stomach. "Shut up."

"Continue." Chat Noir braided the last ends of her hair.

"He wasn't in love with me." Ladybug looked down at her hands. "But I was —  _ am _ — one of his best friends. I was too scared to tell him and… ruin it, I guess."

Chat Noir was quiet, but not uncomfortably. 

She swallowed hard, and carried on. "He just has this…  _ amazing _ smile. And laugh. And eyes. And he's so kind… I wanted to give him that kindness back — tenfold." She took in a breath. "I guess I wasn’t… good enough."

When the first tears fell, Ladybug didn't reach up to wipe them. 

"And I— I'd  _ never _ felt that way about someone before. And it felt so good! I had butterflies whenever I saw him or when I thought about… about holding his hand, going on dates with him, having… having a  _ family _ …" She shut her wet eyes. "But I couldn't even tell him how much he meant to me. I was so… so  _ pathetic _ . Everything I did just messed things up even more, and I'm scared it'll happen again."

Chat Noir moved his hands from her hair to her shoulders.

"I don't think I'm made to fall in love,” she whispered. “I always mess everything up."

“No, My Lady.” He rubbed her shoulders. “That’s not true.”

“But you don’t  _ know _ ,” she wept, “how awful it was. I-I had  _ pictures  _ of him all over my room, I used to—  _ God, I’m so stupid _ — I used to make his favourite macaron every weekend just in case I ever ran into him. I was  _ obsessed _ with him. I went too far. And I didn’t know how to stop. I’m so  _ pathetic _ .”

“C’mere.”

Ladybug, not needing any more convincing, turned, and threw her arms around him.

Face buried against his shoulder once more, she cried. “I just wanted him to love me, but he didn’t, and I was stupid enough to think  _ anyone _ would.”

Chat Noir hushed her against her temple, stroking her back.

“And I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just want to be  _ normal _ around people I love. How could  _ anyone _ love me if I act like… like  _ this _ ?” Shakily, painfully, she breathed in. “No one’ll ever fall in love with me. Not if I loved them back.”

He hugged her tight, still hushing her, lulling her while he held her.

“I just want someone to love me,” she said quietly on his collarbone. “I just wish I was loveable, Chat Noir. I feel so unloveable.”

“That’s not true. You know it’s not.”

She dug her fingers into his shoulder blades, squeezing out hot tears. “Nobody wants me.”

He didn’t say anything, but what  _ could _ he say? Ladybug flung herself at him with tears and a runny nose and pouring her heart out about something that they always danced around under the pretense of identities.

“You know,” she sniffed, “I’ve— I’ve always wanted to just… be with someone. I’ve always wanted someone to love me, and we could kiss each other and hug each other and—and he could kiss my forehead whenever he sees me.” She wiped her nose with the heel of her hand. “B-but that boy… that boy made me realise… I don’t think I ever will. I’m so afraid I never will. I don’t think anyone could ever love me like that, but I want it so badly my chest hurts.”

Chat Noir didn’t let go of Ladybug. 

“Does the boy know?” he asked her.

“Of course not.”

“Maybe… maybe it’d be easier if you told him.”

Ladybug brought her hands to her front and, with sore eyes, peered up.

“It’d be like closure,” he explained, still holding onto her. “Maybe once you talk to him you’ll realise it wasn’t as bad as you thought.”

She sniffled; a tear dripped from her jaw. “He wouldn’t want to talk to me anymore.”

“Aren’t you one of his best friends?”

“I’m so ashamed. I can’t tell him.”

“Think about it, My Lady.” He picked up her hand, smeared with tears, and kissed it. “You’re Ladybug. You’re not afraid of anything.”

She looked at him for a second, then returned her forehead to his collarbone.


	6. dumplings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> marinette is honest -- to adrien and herself.

_**6 - dumplings** _

* * *

It was a little hard not to scoop Marinette up into his arms and hold her for a while.

To push her fringe back and kiss her forehead. To squeeze her hands and whisper against her hair just how much he loved her. To promise he wanted her, to promise he would _always_ want her, to promise he would want her just as much as she wanted him to.

She was out for blood, it seemed, satin pink ribbons bobbing around her pigtails while she approached his desk — sweet, smiling, blissfully unaware of how she was killing him.

“Could I talk to you?” she asked.

Dry, his mouth opened and closed. “H-huh?”

“In private,” she added, casting her eyes to the side.

When he didn’t move, when he _stared_ at her, Nino elbowed him. Adrien jumped to his feet, walked around the table, and followed Marinette out of the classroom. He couldn’t look away from her pink ribbons. 

He was going insane. Insane enough not to care whether they were late to last period, not to care whether Chloé or Lila or _anyone_ found it suspicious a girl and a boy were in a desolate, _private_ locker room — not to care about _why_ Marinette was taking him to a desolate, _private_ locker room.

Heartbeat in his throat, he waited for Marinette by her locker. She shut the double doors behind them, then returned.

“So,” she started, not looking at him, twirling her forefingers, “this isn’t really easy for me to say. I’m kinda nervous.”

“It’s okay. Take your time.” Because even he had to take some time to himself. He wetted his lips — oh _God,_ they were chapped — and, bravely, reached out, and clasped her right hand. She was tiny. “No rush.”

Marinette stared at their joined fingers for a while, and blinked.

Adrien’s heart wouldn’t let up.

“Okay, okay, uh… how do I start?” With her free hand, she touched her flushed cheek. “I’m telling you this because—because it’s important that I’m honest with you. Okay?”

He nodded, perhaps a little too eagerly.

“Alright, here goes nothing.” She inhaled deeply, and squeezed her eyes shut. “The boy I used to have a crush on… was you.”

“M-me?”

She opened one eye to peek up at his face. “You.”

Him.

_Him._

Marinette said _crush_ and _you_ to _him_ and—

Wait.

' _Used to_ have a crush on’?

Slowly, she drew her hand away from his grasp. “I’m really sorry about that — for how I acted, I mean. I’m sorry for making you think I was mad at you, or didn’t want to be around you, or anything — because I did. I, uh…” And she giggled, rubbing the back of her neck. “I really, _really_ did. I just got so nervous around you, and it made me act so… dumb, sometimes.”

She was wringing her fingers, crossing her knuckles. Adrien looked at them instead of her eyes.

“But, yeah. You’re the guy. Sorry if this makes things awkward.” 

Adrien wrung out his own fingers. Now that they weren’t between Marinette’s, he wasn’t sure what else to do with them.

Then, she proffered a hand. “Friends?” she said.

He gave her a pained smile, and shook it. “Friends.”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

Adrien dropped his pen and sighed. His hand was cramping up, so he took the eight-minute video Ms Bustier projected onto the chalkboard as a chance to shake out his fingers. He’d seen Marinette do the same, much more than he ever did — her wrist was always aching with all the sewing, the sketching, the lining, the writing. He hoped one day, he’d be there when she rubbed at her aches, and he could offer a little massage, and cradle her wrist in his hands and touch away the pain.

He stopped that train of thought before it got too far because:

  1. If he blushed any harder he’d look like a stop sign, and
  2. Marinette didn’t love him anymore.



He swallowed the heartache like a spoonful of cough syrup. 

It would be fine. He would be fine. She got her closure, and that was what mattered.

(Not the fact that Marinette spent months looking at him and wanting and _dreaming_ of hand-holding and dates and a house and kids and wedding vows while he blindfolded himself with scarlet and black).

He was okay, other than his cramping hand. She deserved closure.

"Alexandre said you're cute."

"Which one's Alexandre again?"

"The blond."

"Let me see."

Marinette and Alya lapsed into silence — or at least Adrien thought so. He was already straining to hear them whispering under the video.

"What do you think?" Alya asked her.

"He's… kinda cute, actually."

Adrien jerked in his seat.

Nino jumped, bewildered.

"Sorry," Adrien said quietly. "Uh, pins and needles."

Not looking entirely convinced, Nino turned back to the video.

"Really?" Alya whispered to Marinette. "For real?"

"I mean, I could see myself with him."

Hand-holding and dates and a house and kids and wedding vows? Forehead kisses and cheek kisses and _someone else_ cupping Marinette's face, staring into her sparkling eyes, and taking her taste all to himself?

Adrien clenched his fist on the table.

"I thought you didn't want to date," Alya said.

"Well… I think I wanna try now."

Adrien could hear her grinning. "I'll give him your number?"

"Sure."

Four minutes into the video, the last bell rang. Adrien shook his hand out once more, and packed his tablet back into his bag.

"Hey, Adrien," Marinette said, and before he could turn, had reached over to touch his elbow. "We're all headed to the bakery for a while. Do you wanna come?"

He glanced at Alya's phone, drawn to the picture of Marinette sent to a contact named _Alexandre_. "Sure. I could do with some sweets."

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

He managed to stay a few steps behind while they walked without much question. Naturally, Alya stayed beside Nino, and naturally, Marinette stayed beside Alya. After all, _dates_ were their favourite topic of conversation.

Adrien, watching Marinette's satin ribbons, sighed.

"Stop moping," Plagg said from inside his overshirt. "This would be the perfect time for you to add yourself into the equation."

"Yeah. Right after finding out she had a crush on me."

"Come on, she adores you. I'm sure if you asked her out again she'd say yes."

"That's not the point, Plagg. I was too late. That's on me. I'm— I'm happy that she's moving on."

Plagg ears flattened as he looked up at Adrien.

"I _am_ ," he insisted, and turned back to Marinette when she giggled at Alya. "My poor Bugaboo. She cried so much last night."

"You can't call her _your_ Bugaboo if you don't tell her how you feel."

Adrien opened his mouth to rebut, but Alya whipped around to face him, and he had no choice but to push Plagg back into his shirt.

"What do you think, Adrien?" she asked.

He came closer. "Think about what?"

“Alexandre wants to go on a date with Marinette, but she’s afraid that’d be moving too quick.”

“I’d rather just get to know him, for now,” Marinette said at her side.

“So?” Alya raised an eyebrow. “What’s your opinion?”

Plagg poked his chest from inside his shirt. Another spoonful of cough syrup.

“How do you feel about him?” he asked Marinette.

“I-I…” She looked down at her purse. Wringing out her fingers. Crossing her knuckles. “He’s okay, I guess? Maybe if I spent more time with him…”

“Like on a _date_ ,” Alya pressed.

Marinette scrunched up her mouth and advanced down the pavement. “I don’t think I’m ready. I don’t know how I feel about him.”

“Girl, you’ll never know unless you give him a shot.”

“I don’t know, Alya.”

Adrien should have been on Alya’s side — it’s not like he had a chance with Marinette, anyway — but it felt _good_ to know she wasn’t going on a date with some _Alexandre_.

(But they had each other’s numbers and oodles of free time, and all Adrien could think about was good-morning text messages and late-night conversations and phone calls while Marinette flushed gorgeously at a blond boy that wasn’t him.)

He almost stopped walking to rub his tight chest.

“You wanna know what I think?” Nino said once the girls were out of earshot. 

“What?”

“You’d be better for Marinette than all the other guys Alya’s trying to set her up with.”

Adrien snapped his head around to look at him.

“I mean, you guys are already close. And you really care about her. Half the class agree with me, you know.”

Before his heart could get much warmer, Adrien saw the bakery approaching. The girls were already hanging around by the entrance. “We should hurry up,” he told Nino.

They entered the bakery all together. It was rather quiet for 4PM, but he was glad Sabine wouldn't be manning the counter during rush hour all by herself.

Marinette kissed her on the cheek. "We're just gonna go play some video games."

"Ask your Papa if he wants to join."

"Will do!" She turned, Alya and Nino behind her. “You coming, Adrien?”

“Uh, I’m just gonna buy some stuff first. You guys go ahead.”

Nino shrugged at Alya and Marinette; the three of them headed upstairs.

He went up to the display case and pressed his hand against the glass. Chouquettes, pain au chocolats, chocolate twists, and brioches. Perhaps Marinette kneaded the dough, stirred the mixture, slipped a pair of worn oven mitts on and took out the tray with her tongue poked out in the way it often did while beads of condensed steam moistened her cheeks.

Adrien delighted himself in the image of her wiping them with the back of her oven mitt — then, in the image of her approaching him with a tray of pastries so _he_ could wipe them for her.

“Adrien,” Sabine said, coming over to the display case, too. She placed a tote bag on top of it. Curiously, he peered inside to find a Tupperware container. “Could you take these with you tonight?”

He blinked at her. “That’s very kind of you, Mrs Dupain-Cheng, but my father—” 

Quietly, she smiled, and raised a hand for him to stop. “If you’re keeping your lady out so late, at least make sure she eats something.”

Adrien’s jaw dropped.

Sabine picked up a cloth from behind the counter and wiped down the display glass. “I left enough for you to share with her.”

At that, Adrien pulled the bag towards him and pushed it away from the Tupperware. Inside was no fewer than twenty dumplings.

“How did you—” He blinked again owlishly, then shook his head. “Does she— does she know—”

And Sabine laughed, barely looking up from the line of dust she was taking care of. “Just tell her Mrs Dupain-Cheng made a special batch for Paris’s superheroes. She doesn’t need to know the rest.”

She shot him one last maternal smile, rubbed at a few more specks of dust, before heading back to the cash register.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

Chat Noir was early this time. He sat by himself on top of Françoise Dupont, an inside-out tote bag beside him, the Eiffel Tower gilding his dark silhouette.

Smiling, Ladybug whistled. Startled, he looked around.

“A little jumpy tonight, are you, kitty?” she giggled, taking a seat next to the tote bag.

“You would be too if I sneaked up on you like that.” 

Which was true, but Ladybug was too busy relishing the fact it had finally been her turn to scare him. 

He watched her from the corner of his eyes. “You’re smiley.”

“Am I?” 

“Incredibly.” This time, he leaned back on his arms to face her properly. “Anything special happen?”

She sighed happily. “I told him.”

“Who?”

“The boy I was in love with.” She looked away from the sparkling lights to meet his gaze. “I told him the truth.”

“Oh. That’s—that’s great!”

“Right?” She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. It has been far too long since the last time she enjoyed the wind like this. “I just feel so relieved. Like, I told him, and nothing changed. The world didn’t end or anything. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I finally told him the truth.”

Chat Noir was quiet, a little too long for Ladybug’s comfort. She opened her eyes. He was playing with his fingers.

“Hey,” she said, and he looked up. “How was your day?”

“I mean, it was fine— oh, actually, that reminds me.” Then, he jumped back to life, tugging the tote bag into his lap and undoing the knot at the top. “I dropped by to see Mrs Dupain-Cheng today.”

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to romance Marinette’s mum.”

He threw her a smirk. “The way to a girl’s heart is through her mother.”

Ladybug didn’t have enough time to think about what he said before Chat Noir cracked open a Tupperware box filled with dumplings.

"Wow," she said. "You must've _really_ charmed her."

"What can I say?" He placed a show-off hand under his chin. "I'm Paris's dream son."

"Yeah, yeah. Maybe she felt bad for the stray skulking around the bakery," she said and gave him an appreciative scratch on the chin. "These look so good."

"And they're especially for you."

Ladybug's eyebrows shot up, bemused.

"I-I mean—" His hand flew to the back of his neck. "They're for both of us, obviously, but mostly for you. Because I said so. Uh… eat up."

Whether it was her light spirits or seeing Chat Noir flustered for once in her life, she found herself biting back a giggle.

Instead of picking a dumpling up herself, she opened her mouth, leaning forward, and winked at him.

"Such a princess," he grumbled, rolling his eyes, nevertheless choosing the biggest dumpling and holding it up for her. "You're lucky you're cute, you know."

She laughed, he popped the dumpling in her mouth, she held onto his wrist, and—

_Oh._

When Ladybug bit down, when Ladybug met his eyes, when she felt the tip of his thumb on her upper lip and she realised her grip was not a grip but just a touch, she froze.

Then, she wanted to laugh.

She hadn’t even started chewing yet, but a tickly, warm feeling emerged in her chest — her beating heart, perhaps, but a heartbeat never felt so good. She flushed from there, from the little tickle, up to her face, until she felt heat behind her eyes and nose and in every breath she let out against his hand.

He was smiling, softer after he’d rolled his eyes. Feeding her. Chat Noir was feeding her, and he was smiling, and the tickle was getting _worse_ and it was a wonder she hadn’t burst into laughter.

This was it. This is what she’d felt was missing with that boy — oh, what was his name, Alec? Alexandre? Did it matter? Because Ladybug was looking at Chat Noir while Chat Noir fed her a dumpling from a Tupperware box and he was smiling and and her heart was racing and _oh God_.

She loved him.

Like when she told Adrien the truth, Ladybug felt lighter, but with all this lightness she was sure to float off the rooftop like a dandelion clock. 

(Or perhaps she could fall into his open arms, have him hold her together while she giggled and curled up in his warm, warm lap).

"My Lady?" he said.

Yes yes _yes_ yours yours _yours_ I'm yours and I _love you_ and my heart is about to beat out of my chest—

She bit off the dumpling and pulled away. Not so surreptitiously she placed a hand on her chest, and let out a great sigh.

"Sorry, I just…" She smiled to herself. "It's nothing. But you should have one, too."

And before he could take one, she picked up a dumpling, and held it in front of his mouth.

Her chest did funny, funny things when he ate from her hand.

She wanted to feed him dumplings and macarons and cakes and brush the crumbs from his lips with the backs of her fingers.

He held up a dumpling. She ate it.

Then, they took one out each, raised them, and touched the ends like wine glasses.

"To Mrs Dupain-Cheng's dumplings," Chat Noir said with a grin.

"To Mrs Dupain-Cheng's dumplings," Ladybug repeated.

They fed each other their dumplings.

Ladybug's heart _soared_.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

Marinette lay in bed, giggling. She'd been giggling to herself since she fell through the skylight mid-detransformation, too weak to drag herself down the stairs to change out of her blazer and into her pyjamas.

"Marinette, are you alright?" Tikki asked.

She touched her flushed cheeks, took in a deep breath, then giggled some more, rolling onto her side and burying her face into her pillow.

"Ah, man," Marinette said softly, "I'm in love with Chat Noir."

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

Sabine sat on the living room couch, sipping at her nightly tea.

The walls weren't nearly as thin as Marinette thought they were.

Closing her eyes, Sabine leaned her temple against the headrest, and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter: [maketca](https://twitter.com/maketca)  
> tumblr: [rosekasa](https://rosekasa.tumblr.com)


End file.
